Page 52 of The Overtime Kiss

“You wanna know what else I learned?”

“I do.”

“The Andromeda Galaxy is on a collision course with the Milky Way. But not for, like, four billion years.”

I laugh. “All in due time.”

“Anyway, we picked up more stickers for my ceiling for this weekend, but we can go shopping when you get home if you want to find more. I just think it’d be awesome to get one of a supergiant.”

“A supergiant, huh?” I say.

“Yup! Oh, and I got you a cool T-shirt too. Well, I told Sabrina you’d think it was funny, so she picked it up—but it’s really from me.”

I’m not sure I’m following the math or money, but I grin anyway.

When we land in San Francisco, I catch up with Miles in the players’ lot. We share rides sometimes—better for Earth and all. So I hop into the passenger seat of his car.

“Good thing you’re not bringing the Falcon name down so far this season,” he says, pulling out of the lot.

“Pretty sure I’m bringing it up,” I toss back.

He scoffs. “Not sure it can go higher. Did you see my stats last season?” he says as he drives toward Pacific Heights.

I shoot him a look. “Is there a cup in your house I’m unaware of?”

That shuts him up. But not for long. “Seriously though. We could get one this season. Together. Wouldn’t that be something?”

I give him a genuine smile as I offer a fist for knocking. “That would be something indeed.”

When he pulls up in front of my home, he gives me a chin nod. “How’s everything working out with the house and all? You think you’ll buy anytime soon?”

I sigh. “I should, but man, life is busy, you know?”

“I hear you. Don’t wait too long though. You’ll be here for a while.”

I appreciate the endorsement. “That’s the plan,” I say, then thank him and head up the steps.

When I go inside, the T-shirt Parker told me about is sitting on the kitchen counter. It says: Science is Cool Since It Works Whether You Believe It or Not.

I smile, but not because of the shirt or the good game, or even because of Miles’s faith in us. It’s because Sabrina figured out my kid. Parker’s not an easy puzzle to crack—he’s bright, curious, and a little too serious for his age sometimes. But she tried, and it seems she delivered.

It’s late, and I’m the only one up. I grab an apple from the counter and crunch into it, taking a moment to breathe in the quiet of the house, the hum of the fridge the only noise. I finish the apple, then toss it into the compost bin and head upstairs, a pang of longing cutting briefly through my chest. I ignore it, since really, what am I even longing for?

I re-center my thoughts as I get ready for bed, chucking my tie and suit back into the closet and tugging on shorts and a T-shirt. As I brush my teeth, I find myself reviewing Sabrina’s first week, and I’d say she did a damn fine job. That relaxes me as I slide under the covers a few minutes later.

But once I’m alone in the biggest bed ever, my mind drifts to her. Two flights down. Is she under her sheets? And how do they feel against her body? Are they smooth against her skin? Does she get hot when she sleeps and kick them off?

A groan, unbidden, rumbles up my chest as I imagine the cool blue sheets slipping down her skin, revealing soft flesh and full breasts, and a warm, eager woman.

The longing intensifies, revving my mind and my body.

I could ignore it, but instead I feed it. I reach for my phone on the nightstand. I hop over to her socials, and a fizzy feeling rushes through me when I spot a new video. I’ve never once commented on her posts, or even “liked” them. But I have watched all her skating videos. Every single one, from the routines and free skates to the tutorials. Yeah, I’m a social stalker. But the woman is stunning and her videos are…addictive. Before I hit play, I grab my earbuds and pop them in. Don’t want anyone to wake up and figure out what I’m listening to. I hit play, then settle down under the covers, a hazy sensation filling me as a Jane Black song plays, and Sabrina glides across the ice. She posted this a couple days ago, and it hits me—this routine might very well be from her first morning here. When I ran into her in the garage and she was wearing only her towel.

For some stupid reason, that makes me feel even more connected to her, knowing what she didafter. She came here, to my house. With that sense of satisfaction running through my veins, I get a little lost in how she gains speed and power with each crossover, then I’m mesmerized by her spins. I bet they took years to perfect. Of course they did. And she makes it look effortless. When she launches into the air, my breath catches annoyingly, but after two revolutions she lands like it was easy.

I smile. A stupid smile. Because I really shouldn’t be watching this.

I hit play again. Then one more time. And I like it so much I’m tempted to hit the heart button.

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